Partials series 1-3 (Partials; Fragments; Ruins)

“I still think you’re insane,” said Marcus. “Do you even have a plan? You’re not just going to grab a Partial and push the ‘cure RM’ button—even assuming you catch one, do you have any idea what to do with him?”

Kira turned to face him, surprised to hear him argue against it. “What do you mean you’re insane?” she asked. “I thought you agreed with us.”

“I never said anything like that,” said Marcus. “I think it’s dangerous and unnecessary and stupid—”

“What about everything she just said about the future?” demanded Haru. “About the species? Don’t you even care about that?”

“Of course I care,” said Marcus, “but this isn’t the way to do it. It’s very noble to talk about giving your lives for a cause, and the future of mankind is a pretty great cause, I’ll grant you that, but take ten seconds to be realistic about this and it all falls apart. No one has seen a Partial in eleven years—you don’t know where they are, what they’re doing, how to find them, how to capture one, what they’re physically capable of, or anything else. And if by some ridiculous miracle you manage to capture one without getting massacred, what then? Are you going to waltz a Partial right into the middle of East Meadow and hope you don’t get shot on sight?”

“We’ll take one of the portable medicomps,” said Kira, “and a generator to run it. We can do all the tests we need in the field.”

“No, you can’t,” said Marcus, “because you’ll be dead. You started this by being blunt, so here’s some more bluntness for you: Everyone who goes on this idiotic adventure will die. There is no other outcome. And I will not allow you to kill yourself.”

“How in the hell is that your decision?” Kira snapped. She felt her face suddenly hot, her blood boiling, her hands tingling with the sudden rush of blood and adrenaline and emotion. Who did he think he was? The room was hushed and uncomfortable, everyone staring at her outburst. Kira stood and walked away, not even daring to look at Marcus for fear that she’d yell at him again.

“This will take us at least a month, probably more, to put together,” said Jayden quietly. “Haru has access to the maps through his construction contacts, and I can go talk to a couple of people I know will help us out. We’ll say we’re doing a salvage run, with personnel I select, and no one will think twice until we don’t come back on time. By then it will be too late to stop us. But putting all of that paperwork in place, without raising suspicion, will take time.”

“That’s fine,” said Kira. “We don’t want to waste time, but we don’t want to rush this either. If we’re going to do it, we do it right.”

“How are you going to request me?” asked Xochi. “I’m not certified for salvage missions.”

“You’re not coming,” said Jayden.

“Like hell I’m not coming.”

“You need to stay with Madison,” said Haru. “Everyone does what they can, with the skills they have. Trying to take you into Partial territory is asking for trouble; you’d be more of a hindrance than a help.”

“Please stay with me,” said Madison, holding a hand toward Xochi. Her eyes were wide and tear-filled, her face desperate and pleading. “I can’t stand to lose everyone at once.”

“If Xochi’s no good out there, I’d be even worse,” said Isolde. “But I can run interference with the Senate if they notice you’re missing. Anything the Grid decides to do, though, is beyond my reach.”

“That’s good,” said Haru, “but you’ll need to do more. Your job is making sure that when we come back, the Senate will at least listen to what we have to say.”

“I’m not going either,” said Marcus. “And neither is Kira.”

Kira whirled around, stalked to the couch, and yanked Marcus up by the arm. “Jayden, Haru, get started. Marcus and I are going outside to talk.” She dragged him down the hall to the front door, banging it open violently. She shoved him down the steps and stormed after, planting herself firmly in front of his face. Her eyes were hot with tears. “What do you think you’re doing in there?”

“I’m saving your life.”

“It’s my life, I can save it myself.”

“Then do it. Do you really think you’ll survive a trip out there? Do you really want to leave all this behind?”

“All what behind? Are you talking about us? Is that what this is about? I have to sit back and watch the whole world spiral down the drain because we might have to break up? You don’t own me, Marcus—”

“I’m not saying I own you, obviously I’m not saying that. I just don’t understand why you’re ready to throw everything away for this.”

“Because it’s the only way,” said Kira. “Doesn’t that even matter to you? Can’t you see what’s going on? We are tearing ourselves apart. If I go tomorrow I might die, yes, but if I stay, we will die, inevitably, and the whole human race with us, and I refuse to live with that.”

“I love you, Kira.”

“I love you too, but—”

“But nothing,” said Marcus. “You don’t have to save the world. You’re a medic—not even a full medic yet, you’re an intern. You have a gift for science, and you can do so much more here, in the hospital. Where it’s safe. Let them go if they have to, but you stay.” His voice faltered. “Stay with me.”

Kira squeezed her eyes shut, willing him to understand. “Stay with you and what, Marcus?” She opened her eyes again, looking deeply into his. “You want to get married? You want to have a family? We can’t do any of that until RM is cured. Whether or not they lower the required age, I will spend the rest of my life pregnant: Most of those women average one a year, and all the children die. Is that really what you want? We get married, we get pregnant, and twenty years from now we have twenty dead children? There is not enough room in my heart for that; there’s not enough strength.”

“Then we’ll leave,” said Marcus. “We’ll go to one of the farms, or to a fishing village, or we’ll join the Voice, I don’t even care—anything to make you happy.”

“The Voice and the Grid are going to tear the island apart if we don’t find a cure, Marcus, we’re not going to be safe anywhere.” She stared at him, trying to understand him. “Do you honestly think I could be happy in some tiny little village somewhere, ignoring everything while the world dies?” Her voice cracked. “Do you even know me at all?”

“It will never be cured, Kira.” Marcus’s voice was small and pained. He took a deep breath, setting his jaw firmly. “You’re an idealist, you solve puzzles, and you look at something unsolvable and all you can see are the things nobody’s done yet—the crazy, harebrained things that nobody has tried because they’re crazy and harebrained. We have to face the truth: We have tried everything, we have looked everywhere, we have used every reasonable resource, and RM is still not cured because it is incurable. Dying across the river is not going to change that.”

Kira shook her head, trying to find the words she wanted. How could he say something like that? How could he even dare to think it? “You don’t . . .” She paused, crying, starting over. “How can you live like that?”

“It’s the only way we have left, Kira.”

“But how can you live without a future?”

He swallowed. “By living in the present. The world is already over, Kira. Maybe one day a baby will live, maybe not. It’s not going to change anything. All we have left is each other, so let’s enjoy it. Let’s be together, like we’ve always said we’d be, and let’s forget all this death and fear and everything else and just live. You want to leave the island, let’s leave the island—let’s go somewher no one will find us, away from the Senate and the Voice and the Partials and everything else. But let’s do it together.”

Kira shook her head again, sobbing. “Do you really love me?”

“You know I love you.”

“Then give me this one thing.” She sniffed, wiping her face, and looked him squarely in the eyes. “Don’t stop us.” He started to protest, and she cut him off. “I can’t live in the world you’re talking about. I’m leaving tomorrow, and if I die, I die, but at least I’ll die doing something. And if you love me, you won’t tell anyone what we’re doing, or where we’re going, or how to stop us. Promise me.”

Marcus said nothing, and Kira gripped his arms fiercely. “Please, Marcus, promise me.”

His voice was slow and lifeless. “I promise you.” He stepped back, pulling away from her grip. “Good-bye, Kira.”

The wagon rolled out of town at 12:02, a small group armed for battle. Jayden had found an old salvage report for a southwestern location—a high school on the South Shore that no one had ever followed up on. Schools tended to have well-stocked nurses’ stations, so requesting Kira had been easy; this particular school was also fairly old, which made it easy to request Haru: He’d test the place for stability, and Kira would look for meds. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and Jayden’s superiors had rubber-stamped it without a second glance. The border patrol didn’t even stop them, they just saw the uniforms and waved them through.

They reached the wilderness. Phase one was a success.

Kira and Marcus had fought again last night: his final attempt to talk her out of going. It drove Kira mad that he could be so obtuse—that he could misunderstand her so completely—and she was still fuming as she sat in the Grid wagon, trying to think of something else. She looked at the group they’d assembled. Driving the wagon was the same girl they’d had on the last run, a small-framed girl named Yoon-Ji Bak. Next to her at the front of the wagon was Gabriel Vasicek, a battle-scarred mountain of a man who made the phrase “riding shotgun” sound pathetic—he was riding “chain-fed minigun,” a giant metal monstrosity with at least eight barrels. Nobody who saw him wielding it was likely to give them trouble. In the back with Kira were Jayden, Haru, and two soldiers Jayden identified as Nick and Steve—Kira had no idea which was which, and chose to think of them as Skinny and Scruffy. They watched the empty houses roll past without comment.

Jayden laid out a map of the island. “We head south on Meadowbrook, west on Sunrise, and then south on Long Beach Boulevard to the edge of the island. We’ll actually get pretty close to the school in the salvage report, just a few blocks away, so anyone who sees us and happens to get asked about it will report that we went exactly where we’re supposed to.”

Kira pointed at the map’s south shore, a rough-edged maze of bays and inlets and narrow islands. “Your path takes us over a bridge—are we sure it’s still up?”

“You’re thinking of the wooden ones,” said Haru. “These that we’ll be using are steel, and even without maintenance, they can last a lot longer than eleven years.”

“But why so far south?” asked Kira. “If somebody sees us near the school, hooray, we have a witness, but is that really likely enough to warrant going a day or more out of our way?”

“We have to head south anyway,” said Jayden, tapping the western half of the map, “for two reasons. First is the airport, the block marked ‘JFK’—it’s big and solid and we don’t use it for anything, which makes it practically the Voice capital of the island. Everyone who doesn’t want to follow the rules ends up there sooner or later.”

“Everyone but us,” said Kira.

Jayden smirked. “It’s also perfectly situated between East Meadow and the military base in Queens, which is our other big obstacle. If we travel too far north, we hit the Defense Grid, which is obviously out of the question; if we travel through the middle, we risk Voice raids out of JFK. But if we go all the way south, we avoid them both—we get pretty close to the airport, but our scouts say the Voice don’t tend to patrol that far down.” He gestured to Skinny and Scruffy; one of them nodded once, the other did nothing. “The shore has less loot to steal, and fewer people to rob, and a pretty straight shot here, to Brooklyn.” He tapped the map again, then moved his finger south, to a place called Staten Island. “This is empty as far as we know, plus the Defense Grid collapsed this bridge, so there’s no good way across. Obviously there’s nothing south of us but ocean, which means ninety-nine percent of the military is up here, in Queens, where our land and their land are closest. All together, that means the route we’ve planned cuts deep to the south and far around everything we want to avoid.”

Kira nodded, seeing their plan. “So we follow the southern coast, hope all these bridges still work, and then cut up behind the Defense Grid through”—she peered at the map labels—“Brooklyn.”

“Exactly,” said Haru, “and we cross on the Brooklyn Bridge.”

Kira frowned, studying the map. “If this area is so undefended, why aren’t we worried the Partials will sweep across it and kill us? The bombs you were talking about?”

“We’ve filled that area with every explosive we could find,” said Jayden. “There are guard posts and watchtowers all through the area, and mines and traps all over both the city and the bridges. We can avoid them because we know where they are, but an army marching through would get blown up, bogged down, and sniped to death while our own forces march down to flank them.”

“Aren’t the Partials going to have the same defenses in . . . what is it called, the Bronx?”

“Possibly, if that’s where they are, but I honestly don’t think they even care. We’re gnats to them: a few thousand humans against a million-plus Partials. They likely don’t defend as well as we do, because they don’t expect us to be stupid enough to attack.”

Kira snorted. “I don’t know if ‘we’re stupider than they think we are’ is a really great attack strategy.”

“Just trust us,” said Jayden. “We know what we’re doing. We can avoid our own mines—Nick and Steve here set half of them themselves—and we can find theirs before they get us. This will work.”

Kira looked at Skinny and Scruffy again. One of them nodded, the same one as before. His companion again stayed silent. Kira pushed her hair from her face.

“We trust all these people? Nick, Steve, Gabe, Yoon?”

“Haru picked them,” said Jayden. “He trusts them, so I have no reason not to. They know what we’re doing and why, and they agree that it’s worth the risk. I’ve met them before; they won’t turn on us or rat us out, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Just curious,” said Kira. She turned to Skinny. “What do you say? Why are you here?”

“I want a piece of a Partial.”

“Great,” said Kira. “Real upstanding motives.” She looked at Scruffy. “How about you?”

Scruffy smiled, his eyes hidden behind jet-black glasses. “I just want to save the little babies.”

“Awesome,” said Kira. She looked at Jayden and opened her eyes wide. “Awesome.”

“It’s eleven miles to Long Beach,” said Haru, “then we’re going to push west as far as we can before dark. If you need some shut-eye, now’s the time to get it. Vasicek, you got front?”

“Sir,” said Gabe.

“I’ll watch back for now. The rest of you rest up, it’s going to be a long week.”

“It’s a double bridge,” said Yoon, scanning ahead with binoculars. They had reached the small bridge to Long Beach on the southern shore of the island. “Steel and concrete, both sides look pretty good. Better than good, actually, they’re almost clean—there’s debris built up on the edges, but nothing in the center.” She lowered the binoculars. “Those bridges get used, and regularly.”

Kira peered ahead. “Voice?”

“Probably just a fishing community,” said Jayden, “couple of makeshift family groups who use the bridge to sell fish in East Meadow. They’re all over down here.” He clicked his tongue and shrugged. “Doesn’t mean they’re not bandits when the opportunity presents itself.”

“Then we make the opportunity as unappealing as possible,” said Haru. “Vasicek!”

The giant man stirred and woke, moving from wagon-shaking snores to full alertness in a matter of seconds. “Sir?”

“Get back up front with that minigun; try to look scary.”

Gabe shouldered the minigun and climbed forward, shaking the wagon perilously with every step.

“Why on earth is that called a minigun?” asked Kira. “It’s bigger than I am—is it like calling a fat guy Tiny?”

“It’s the same kind of gun they use on tanks,” said Haru, “but small enough for infantry. When you call something mini, you gotta remember the scale of the original.”

“So you’re a walking tank,” said Kira, whistling low as Gabe settled into the seat by Yoon. “Remind me not to call you Tiny.”

“Move out,” said Haru. Yoon whipped the horses, and the wagon lurched into motion. Kira watched the bridge as they approached it, her eyes flicking back and forth to the other buildings they were passing. The street here was wide, lined with parking lots and looted stores, and where it merged with another road, there were triangular patches of grass and trees springing up between the lanes. As they passed the last building on the corner, Kira whipped her head around to look down the other street, expecting an ambush at any minute, but all she saw were broken storefronts and rusted cars.

The wagon rumbled forward, the horses’ hooves clattering on the broken asphalt. They reached the tip of the bridge, and Kira saw the narrow bay stretching out on either side, and then they were on it, out in the open, with hundreds of yards to cross without a tree or a building or any kind of cover. Kira had never felt so exposed. She’d grown up in the center of the island, surrounded by . . . stuff. By everything the old world had built and grown and left behind. It held its own dangers, but she’d learned to deal with them—holes to hide bandits or animals, walls to collapse on you if you weren’t careful, metal spikes and shards of glass and a hundred other threats. She knew them, and she was used to them. To be out here, away from everything, with nothing to hide behind or shelter beneath or even lean against, she felt like the world was empty and alone.

The beach on the far side of the peninsula was, if possible, worse. Gray waves rolled against the shore, topped with white and whipped by a salty wind. Whereas the north shore looked across to the mainland, here the ocean simply continued, flat and featureless as far as Kira could see. She had often dreamed of the world beyond the island, the ruins and wonders, the danger and isolation. Here she saw the world as a great gray nothing—a broken wall, an empty beach, a dull wave slowly grinding it away to nothing. She saw a dead dog half-buried in the sand, brown with old blood and speckled white with maggots. She turned back to the road and kept her eyes from wandering.

If there were people on Long Beach they kept to themselves, and the wagon rumbled along without incident to another bridge on the western tip. Here they crossed back to the main island, circumventing a wide, marshy bay, and then turned west again through another empty city. This shore was much closer to the road than it appeared on the map, which heightened Kira’s unease for reasons she couldn’t explain. All the soldiers were awake now, alert in the fading light, and Jayden whispered at Kira’s side.

“This is the closest we’ll get to the airport—this urban strip heads straight up to it, just three or four miles.”

“You think we’ll see any bandits?”

“You got your rifle?”

Kira nodded, picking it up and checking the chamber. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Locked and loaded.”

“Then you’re ready, either way.”

Kira swallowed and pointed the rifle out away from the wagon, holding it the way they’d taught her in school: left hand supporting the barrel, right hand on the grip, finger next to but not on the trigger. She thumbed off the safety and watched the buildings roll by—fancy town houses with tall, old-growth trees in the front yards, probably millions of dollars apiece before the Break. Now their windows and doors were broken, their yards had gone to seed, and rusted cars squatted in their driveways like giant, dead insects. They passed a stretch of trees, and a row of tall buildings beyond them—an old beach resort, probably half-flooded by now. She saw a glint of light in an upper-story window: an idle reflection from a shard of glass? Or a signal to someone hiding in the city?

The trees gave way to more buildings, the heart of the old town community, and Kira began to see signs of modern habitation: graffiti on the walls, tarps over broken roofs, boards nailed up across shattered windows. The front of an old bank had been hung with corrugated aluminum, and the cars in the parking lot had been pushed together to form a barricade. She couldn’t tell how recently the work had been done, or if anyone was still there. Nothing moved, and no one spoke.

Two blocks later a loud clap echoed through the air, and Kira jumped in fright, clutching the gun. “Was that a shot?”

“Sounds like something fell,” said Jayden, eyes peering carefully into every corner and shadow as they passed. “A sheet of plywood or something, I can’t be sure.”

“So we’re not alone?”

“Oh, we’re definitely not alone.”

Kira scanned the windows along the road—old homes, condos, restaurants, and ice cream shops, all empty, all looted, all scarred by time and weather and human violence. Yoon kept the horses steady, whispering softly to calm their nerves. Gabe brandished his minigun like a talisman, half standing in his seat for better leverage. Skinny and Scruffy crouched low in the wagon, sighting odd places with their rifles that Kira would have never thought to look: a Dumpster by an alley, a billboard, a tipped delivery van lying dented on its side.

Footsteps echoed down the street, and Kira’s heart tensed in her chest. She couldn’t tell if they were running toward her or away. She strained her eyes and saw nothing.

“Could be Voices planning an ambush,” said Jayden. “Could be fishermen thinking we’re the Voice.”

“You’ve got uniforms,” said Haru. “They should know that we’re safe.”

Kira gripped her rifle tighter. “That also makes us a target for the Voice.” She saw a flash of movement in an upper window and swung around quickly, training her gun on the enemy, finger moving fluidly to the trigger to fire the first shot.

It was a kid, maybe fourteen years old. As young as Saladin. His face was dirty, and his shirt was ragged and oversize. Kira gasped, breathing heavily, seeing the boy in her sights and feeling her finger on the trigger. She lowered her gun. “Nobody shoot him.”

Jayden was already watching the boy in the window, who looked down at them stone-faced. The wagon rolled forward, and he disappeared from view. Kira turned and slumped against the inner wall of the wagon, dropping the rifle and covering her face.

The wagon rumbled on.

The peninsula was long, far longer than the last one. The sun began to set, and the buildings cast long shadows over the road. Kira watched as the stores turned to houses, the houses to apartments, and the apartments to forests of kudzu and narrow saplings. Just when Kira thought it was too dark to go on, Jayden called a halt and pointed to a run-down marina office. Skinny and Scruffy jumped out of the wagon and practically disappeared, melting into the shadows. Kira waited tensely, so nervous she even picked up the rifle again. She tried to speak, but Jayden hushed her with a motion of his hand. Minutes passed like hours, until a small light shone out from the windows of the marina. Jayden whistled softly, and Yoon flicked the horse’s reins, guiding them toward the building. The front wall had been solid glass, a showroom for fishing boats, and the opening was wide enough to drive the whole wagon into shelter. Jayden jumped out, and Gabe dropped heavily to the floor, keeping his eyes on the street behind them.

“One door in the back,” said Skinny, “and two windows too big to board up.”

“Let’s go,” said Jayden, and they disappeared into the back rooms. Haru started untying the gear, and Kira hurried to help—blankets and food, extra ammunition, even explosives. She hadn’t known about those. They handed them down to Yoon and Scruffy, and together they ferried it all into a back room with no other entrances. Last of all was the medical computer, a portable unit with its own generator, designed for fieldwork in undeveloped countries. Kira couldn’t remember what the old world looked like—the old days, when she was a child, when the wasteland she lived in was still “developed.” She thought about the maggots on the dog, crawling and eating and blind.